Jeremiah's Cabin
by mcj
Summary: A remote cabin in Kentucky where secrets are shared and secrets remain...especially between Father and son.


Author's Note – This little story was one I wrote as an entry in a TIWF three object challenge earlier this year…a boomerang, a bottle and a fluffy kitten

* * *

_Author's Note – This little story was one I wrote as an entry in a TIWF three object challenge earlier this year…a boomerang, a bottle and a fluffy kitten. Certainly an interesting combination. Special acknowledgement to the Tracy Island Chronicles …mcj _

* * *

_**JEREMIAH'S CABIN**_

* * *

There were many times in his life when Jeff Tracy gave thanks for the quiet intuition of his mother. Her ability to read between the lines was a real gift, particularly when it came down to something she sensed was troubling one of his sons.

Her intuition was the reason he was zig-zagging down the road now; hands gripped tightly on the wheel of a rusty old truck and heading in the direction of the cabin.

He originally hadn't planned to come to Kentucky for at least another three weeks. The middle of August still seemed a long way off when he was trying to juggle a rescue organisation with a multi-billion dollar corporation. But then his mother changed all that by asking to have a word with him in private.

"I've a feeling you need to take Virgil to the cabin early this year, son," she told him quietly behind closed doors. "I know you're not due to go there for a few more weeks, but things just don't seem to be sitting right with Virgil lately. I think it's important for you to see if you can get to the bottom of whatever's bothering him and the sooner you do it the better."

His first reaction to the observation was one of surprised aggravation. What gave her the impression Virgil was unhappy about something? Virgil seemed all right to him. Even if he wasn't, all of the boys knew if there was a problem of some sort they were free to come and discuss it with him anytime.

Nothing had been said so far.

"I know all that, Jeff. But trust me; Virgil's got something on his mind right now. I sense it. All I want is for the two of you to talk about it, before whatever it is, gets out of hand."

So here he was in the middle of nowhere; avoiding the jagged ruts and knee deep holes, on his way to spend the next three days alone with his son. Thank goodness Jeremiah had been more than understanding when he contacted him with the last minute change of plans. His old hillbilly friend from Kentucky didn't have any hesitation in making the old cabin by the Mississippi available to him at such short notice. He'd said they could come over tomorrow if they wanted to. The cabin was theirs to use at any time.

"It'll be real nice to see you again Mr. Tracy," he acknowledged during their short discussion over the vid phone. "And don't you worry. I'll make sure Ma's got plenty of food on the table for your arrival and enough gasoline to fill up the truck."

"Jeremiah's a good man, Virgil." Jeff suddenly said out loud, immediately grimacing as his statement coincided with another jolt that nearly catapulted the truck skywards. "How in the hell is a man supposed to drive along these roads?" he ended with a questioning grumble into his chest.

"Don't worry about it Dad. You're doing fine."

As always, Virgil was relaxed when he responded, calmly sitting in the passenger seat, taking in everything to do with his surroundings. It didn't seem to bother him that they'd already taken three wrong turns or that they'd had to stop several times to reload all their belongings after nearly becoming airborne. It was one of the things Jeff Tracy loved about the son who was the most like his precious Lucy. Nothing seemed to faze Virgil. He took everything in life as it came.

And for the next three days Jeff was pretty sure life "as it came" was going to revolve around what Virgil found the most relaxing … his simple love of nature and how it saw it through the pages of his sketches.

Last year sketching was all he had done; hour after hour at the end of the landing stage, his bare feet dangling in the river. A far cry from what the other boys got up to when they came to the Kentucky cabin.

Jeff smiled as he remembered.

Scott couldn't help himself. He wasn't able to sit still for more than five minutes. The last time they came to the cabin together, Scott had talked him into exploring the whole of the surrounding area on foot. In three days they'd hiked so far and for so long, his legs felt like they'd canvassed half the state of Kentucky.

John was the complete opposite. He had no desire to leave the cabin. They slept all day and stayed up all night indulging in their joint love of star-gazing. It led to so many interesting discussions and not all of them focussed on astronomy. John was such an astute and knowledgeable young man.

Gordon just point blank wore him out. Not even the Mississippi river was off limits to him. They swam and they swam and then they swam and they swam. He didn't know how the boy kept doing it. His own muscles had ached for days.

And as for Alan…Jeremiah's old black truck would never be the same again after three days of Alan souping up the motor.

Jeff breathed deeply and loosened his grip on the steering wheel. Life sure was good when he brought his sons to Kentucky. He enjoyed every single moment of it.

It all stemmed back to when he first approached Jeremiah Tuttle to act as one of International Rescue's agents. It seemed like common sense to have an agent he could trust centrally located in Kentucky and he and Jeremiah had been friends since his service days. Over a glass or two from the old barn still and an unforgettable supper of "Ma's beans", Jeremiah had told him about the existence of the cabin. Twenty miles to the south, right on the edge of the Mississippi river, the small four room shack was the ideal place to go when a man needed to get away from life for a while.

"I figure it could also work out kind of strategic for you and your secret organisation, Mr Tracy," he'd said from across the table. "I can guarantee no-one will ever find you there. There's nothing around those parts for over fifty miles."

And so with an honest handshake, he'd taken up Jeremiah's offer for International Rescue to use the cabin. So far there'd been no need for it other than to spend some one on one time with his sons.

The boys all seemed to love it, despite the primitive accommodations. It was shelter from the rain, a bed in the evening and a place to prepare food for the table. It also provided them with the atmosphere to relax and open up about the things that bothered them.

There had been some difficult conversations at times, a few explosions and a number of admissions he'd rather not heard.

It didn't matter.

Everything that was said at the cabin stayed at the cabin and the boys were happy about that.

The happiness of his boys…

Jeff nodded.

No matter what, it would always be his number one priority.

And the main reason he'd acted on the intuition of his mother and brought Virgil out to the cabin early.

However, Jeff couldn't help but feel that his mother was way off base this time. He'd been making some discreet observations of his own since the discussion on Tracy Island and so far Virgil hadn't given him a single reason to be concerned.

Admittedly Virgil had been a little surprised when he was informed they were leaving for Kentucky ahead of schedule, but he happily accepted the change of plan. He'd chatted as he always did during the flight from Tracy Island to the mainland. He'd joined in the conversation when they met up with Jeremiah Tuttle. He'd even laughed at the old souped up truck and enquired if Alan was to blame for the hole it had made in the henhouse.

No, he decided, glancing sideways at his son again. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced there was nothing to discuss privately with Virgil.

* * *

The Mississippi river was magnificent and so was the view from the old broken down landing stage stretching out in front of Jeremiah's cabin. If only he hadn't taken another wrong turn laughing with Virgil over Lady Penelope's recent gift to Jeremiah, they'd have arrived early enough to take in the sunset.

Jeff found it hard not to start laughing all over again as he pictured the look on Jeremiah Tuttle's face when a personal note of thanks for his assistance was accompanied by a boomerang from Bonga Bonga.

Jeremiah had been totally flabbergasted.

Jeff turned away from the water wondering what possible use a hillbilly could have for a boomerang. Knowing Jeremiah, he'd think of something. But with the sun almost gone and the sparkle on the water fading, there was no time to think about Jeremiah, Lady Penelope or the boomerang. Right now, the most important thing to do was to make sure the truck was fully unpacked before dark.

"Dad, the next time Ma Tuttle offers me an extra helping of her beans, can you remind me why it's in my best interests to say no?"

Jeff's face broadened again as a mortified Virgil gingerly appeared from the rear of the cabin and moved to join him on the landing stage.

"I thought that might have been what the hurry was," he chuckled with an affectionate pat to Virgil's back. "You must be the only one I forgot to warn about those beans, son. They're pure dynamite and I mean that in every possible interpretation."

A sarcastic "thanks a lot Dad" and a warning not to go near the cabin for a while, accompanied the look he used to love so well. As they walked together towards the truck Jeff suddenly felt the need to be close to his son. He joked and wrapped an arm around Virgil; assuring him all was fine.

If a man could walk on the moon and raise five sons single-handedly, he was sure he could survive the aftermath of "Ma's beans."

It took them over an hour to finally get everything into the cabin.

Jeremiah had prepared things well for their arrival and it only took a couple of matches to make them feel at home. The fireplace in the corner burned brightly; the old stove was nearly warm enough to cook their supper and the freshly lit lanterns in each of the small rooms gave off the most wonderful welcoming glow.

"Grandma sure is determined not to let us go hungry," Virgil commented as he busily unpacked the four large boxes she'd insisted they bring along for the trip. "I swear there's enough food in here to last us for a whole week, Dad."

A neatly packaged tray with the words "Tuesday supper" now joined the four beers he'd already set out on the table.

"Your Grandmother's not the only one, by the look of it," Jeff pointed out, indicating the numerous rows of tinned beans stacked from one end of the cabin to the other. "Guess that's Ma Tuttle's way of saying she intends to take good care of us, too."

Two raised eyebrows said everything as Virgil returned to his work.

"By the way Dad; I took the liberty of putting my things in the larger room this year," he said, this time without looking up. "I hope you don't mind. I needed the space to lay out the canvas for the painting I'm starting tomorrow."

A twinge of uneasiness momentarily stabbed in the pit of Jeff Tracy's stomach. Virgil never painted when he came to the cabin. He always preferred to sketch and engage in thought-provoking conversations. When Virgil painted it was the family joke that he'd been kidnapped and put into a trance by aliens. He switched off from everything and everybody.

"No sir, I'm fine," was the casual reply to the equally casual question. "Grandma just asked me to paint something for her a while back and I thought it was about time I made some sort of effort."

Relief washed over him. Yes she had asked Virgil to do that. He remembered now. It was the day after he returned from Australia after his short vacation with Lady Penelope. His mother had turned to Virgil over breakfast and asked him if he wouldn't mind painting her something new for her bedroom wall. Something "restful" that would remind her of the old days, she'd said.

Virgil had begun to tease her by pointing out she already had something restful. What was wrong with the beautiful view she had from her beachside balcony?

A touch to his hand and a gentle smile was the only answer she gave.

"The Mississippi will be wonderful on canvas. Grandma will love it. Don't you think so Dad?"

Jeff Tracy nodded and smiled fondly at the son who looked so much like his mother.

"I think Grandma will like it very much, Virgil," he replied, moving forward to grab the beer. "Now how about you forget about unpacking those boxes for a while and come and join me by the river?"

Then he winked and held up the bottles.

"Between the truck, those beans and watching Jeremiah trying to figure out that boomerang, we men sure could use a beer."

* * *

The overnight rain left behind a sweetness which reminded him of life on the farm in Kansas. In the small but comfortable bed, Jeff yawned and stretched his arms and legs under the warmth of the hand knitted blanket. He couldn't think of a more perfect way to begin the day than to wake up to the freshness of saturated pine trees coupled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Jeff rolled over onto his side and breathed a sigh of contentment. The coffee meant that Virgil was awake and probably had been for several hours. Even on the island Virgil made the most of every day, especially a day where he knew he was free to do nothing but immerse himself in creativity.

The smell of the coffee continued to beckon to him until it was no longer tempting to stay in bed. He rose and padded his way through the cabin. Normally, he didn't leave his room in the mornings until he was suitably washed and dressed. Out here, though, it didn't bother him.

Out here, a man didn't even have to shave.

Another sigh escaped, this time a sigh of happiness, as he filled his coffee cup to the brim. Last night had meant a lot to him as a father. It wasn't often he got to sit by the river under a full moon and talk about life with Virgil. He was such a kind, sensitive and gentle man. Lucy would be proud their second son had grown into everything she wanted him to be.

He looked around the cabin.

Force of habit already had him in search of the day's financial pages. After a few moments he felt himself redden when he remembered there was none to be had. Then his eyes came to rest on a package carefully wrapped in bright blue paper. Virgil must have unpacked it earlier and left it in the centre of the table.

Recollection dawned.

His Mother had told him about some package she'd put in the bottom of one of the boxes. Virgil was to open it the night before they returned home, she'd said. He'd assumed it must have been an early birthday present. Virgil's birthday was in two weeks.

He took a moment to pick up the package, turning it over and over in his hands. Whatever it was, it sounded fragile. He was amazed it had survived the journey to the cabin. Lord only knew what sort of surprise Virgil was in for in the next two days time.

"Good morning, Dad."

Clad in faded jeans and an old university t-shirt, Virgil hurried up the landing stage towards the cabin.

"Are you still having trouble with those beans?" Jeff frowned when he wasted no time rushing past him.

"No time to explain, I'm afraid," Virgil replied snatching up his pencils and sketch-pad. "Sorry sir. I just don't want to miss this. It's a once in a life-time opportunity."

Jeff shook his head. Now Virgil was scurrying back towards the river. What in the blazes was he doing? One minute he was determined to paint a canvas of the Mississippi for his Grandmother; the next he was tearing down the landing stage with a sketch-pad in his hand.

"A _**cat,**_ Virgil?" he queried later on; peering at the image in front of him.

"Not a cat Dad. I actually think it was still a kitten …" Virgil explained over another forkful of his eggs. "It looked like it couldn't have been more than a couple of months old. By the way, these are good." he trailed off, looking towards the stove for seconds.

Jeff declined the offer to refill his own plate; electing to just have another cup of coffee. Instead, he continued to dwell on the sketch …a small, fluffy kitten pawing at a wilted reed in the safety of the grass near the river. Where had it come from? How long had it been there? He hoped it was wild and hadn't been dumped. It might be a good idea for them to take a walk later on and keep an eye out for the animal. If it wasn't wild maybe Jeremiah would consider giving it a home.

Jeremiah.

Jeff Tracy suddenly smiled again.

He wondered if he'd found a use for his boomerang.

* * *

A long walk along the Mississippi on dusk failed to locate any trace of the kitten. There were no rustles in the grass, no frightened miaows; only the distant outline of Jeremiah's cabin and the peaceful silence of the wilderness.

And for the last three quarters of an hour that silence had included Virgil.

Jeff Tracy glanced worriedly at his son as he walked along the river beside him. He didn't know what was wrong.

At first Virgil seemed to be enjoying the story of how he and Lady Penelope stumbled on the boomerang during his vacation at Bonga Bonga_. _How Lady Penelope had been so determined to locate the missing sheep from her "little family" she'd insisted they travel together on horseback. How he'd needed to carry her to the shade of a gum tree when the midday heat overtook her and she fainted. That they'd stayed out there for hours and come home with a battered old boomerang.

As the story went on, though, their conversation became more and more one-sided.

Now that it was over, Virgil had nothing to say to him at all.

"No sir, I'm fine."

Once again it was the casual answer to a question which was starting to become increasingly a lot less casual.

Jeff stopped walking.

"Are you sure about that, Virgil?" he asked a little more firmly.

Virgil shrugged and said it was nothing. The walk had made him tired. The kitten had also completely derailed his plans to start the canvas and the thought of letting Grandma down had started to bother him like heck. It was all right, he said. He still had two days to get it done. He'd make sure he had an early night so he could get started on the canvas first thing in the morning.

Once again Jeff Tracy let the relief wash over him. He didn't know why he grabbed every opportunity to worry about his sons. He had already made up his mind his mother was wrong about Virgil and there was still no reason for him to think otherwise.

They'd joked together about the beans. They'd shared a beer and talked about family. They'd searched the banks of the Mississippi trying to find a fluffy kitten.

They'd shared the story of the boomerang.

So why did he still feel so apprehensive when Virgil went to bed before he'd eaten his supper?

* * *

His apprehension faded with the morning dew as the sun once again rose over the tranquillity of Jeremiah's cabin.

There was still the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Breakfast was ready and waiting for him on the stove. Out on the landing stage, Virgil was already working intently on his grandmother's canvas.

Things looked like they were back to normal.

"Hey there, Father."

Lucy's smile flashed sideways as Jeff reached the end of the landing stage.

"Good morning, son. Thanks for the coffee." He indicated the cup and took the opportunity to take a grateful sip of the contents.

"You're welcome, sir."

He was so like her. The same profile…the same manner…even the same beautiful chestnut hair which glimmered in the Kentucky sunlight. He could stand and look at Virgil for hours. It always made him feel happy.

Instinctively, Jeff wrapped an affectionate arm around Virgil's shoulders and ran his eyes over the canvas.

"So how is it all coming, then?" he enquired brightly. "It looks like you've been busy."

Another smile…this time slightly distant as Virgil continued to absorb the view of the river; his long hand moving across the canvas.

"It's doing OK, I guess," he eventually responded. "At the moment I'm trying to get the background right before the sun gets too much higher."

Jeff Tracy had always been a man who could take a hint and Virgil was terrible at being subtle. His brothers were right. When Virgil painted he _did_ turn into an alien.

"Well, if that's the case I'd best leave you to it then," he replied. "I'll be out taking a walk if you need me."

An "OK Dad; I'll see you later," told Jeff there would be no need for him to hurry back to the cabin.

He felt like he'd been out here for hours watching the kitten tumble and flip. It pounced on an unsuspecting spider. It darted in and out of the long grass. It crouched and imprisoned a leaf and didn't give up until it was shredded. The antics of animals had always enthralled him. It had been a long time since he'd taken the opportunity to enjoy the simple pleasure.

The kitten was wild. There was no doubt in his mind about that. It was a shame. At the moment it was every bit as cute as any other domestic cat. Too bad the fluffiness would soon turn into an unsightly brown coat and the playfulness would be replaced with the need for neighbouring birds to watch out for themselves in the evenings.

Jeff's eyes widened as the kitten tried to scamper up a nearby tree, as if it had read his mind. Forget that, he decided. Those birds up there had better start watching out for themselves right now.

Jeff had only ever had one cat in his life and that was the one he'd grown up with on the farm in Kansas. It didn't do much to earn its keep as he recalled. His Father used to complain to his mother that she was missing the point by feeding it three times a day. It was supposed to keep the farm free of mice, not money, he'd told her.

When it died, it came as no surprise that another cat was considered unnecessary.

Jeff glanced down at his watch. It was almost lunch time. He _had _been out here for hours. He wondered how the painting was progressing. Hopefully it was now ahead of schedule. The last thing he needed was a repeat of the previous evening with Virgil so obviously unhappy. He knew the canvas meant a lot to him and that he wanted to please his grandmother, but he didn't want Virgil to put himself under pressure when he had brought him here deliberately to relax.

Plus, he wanted Virgil to talk to him.

Jeff had been doing more than just watch a kitten play in the hours he'd been giving Virgil his space. He'd been mulling over Virgil's reaction to the boomerang story as well as thinking about the number of times he'd been "tired" recently when conversation started on Tracy Island. They both had a common denominator.

It wasn't tiredness.

It was "Bonga Bonga."

He appeared to be rather pleased with himself as he carried the partially completed canvas inside and laid it out on his bed. A cold beer and some decent food sounded like a good idea, he said. After a day of painting the Mississippi River there was no other word for him but drained.

It didn't take long for the hiss of opening bottles to fill the air in the cabin.

"Sunburnt is more like it," Jeff berated him from the stove. "I hope you've got a good excuse to give to your grandmother when you get home."

"All in the interests of family bliss," Virgil grinned sarcastically. "Here you go, Dad."

He handed over a beer and looked into the frypan with interest. "How long is it until supper, then?" he enquired, pleased at the prospect of his favourite.

"Not long, so I'd appreciate it if you would see to setting the table."

"You got it, Dad."

"Thanks."

Jeff had decided over an hour ago that the best thing to do was to get supper over with as soon as it was dark. Neither of them had eaten since breakfast and he knew Virgil would be hungry. However, the last thing Jeff felt like was food. He'd thought more about the situation of Virgil and Bonga Bonga and the more he thought, the more he worried about exactly what Virgil knew.

He wasn't sure how he was going to raise the subject.

After a long deliberation he'd elected to stay silent, at least for the time being. Further observation was required. But if he still had reservations this time tomorrow he would know he needed to bring things to a head with Virgil.

He hoped it didn't come to that.

"Dad, is it all right with you if I open this package now? I'm sick of it being in the middle of the table every time we sit down to eat."

Jeff Tracy grinned and momentarily forgot all about observation.

It seemed to him that Virgil had been pretending to be aggravated about his grandmother's package from the moment that he found out it was his. Virgil was a bad actor when it came to conveying aggravation.

He wasn't aggravated at all.

He was curious.

"Now Virgil…" he warned, "…your grandmother gave me very clear instructions on the time-line I'm supposed to follow with that package."

Sounding gruff was one of his specialities.

"But Dad…she won't know if you don't tell her…"

Unfortunately for both of them, he'd forgotten that persistence was one of Virgil's.

* * *

He hadn't slept. How could he? He was worried sick about his son.

Jeff Tracy sat alone at the end of the old landing stage and rubbed his tired eyes. He never watched the sun rise over Kentucky unless he'd spent the night star-gazing with John. If he hadn't agreed so readily to let Virgil open that package, he probably wouldn't be about to witness the sun rise now.

He didn't understand why Virgil had gone to bed without supper again when he saw what the package contained. It was only an old glass bottle containing a message. His mother had probably written it herself to say that neither of them could be trusted.

Knocking on the door had made no difference. Offering to reheat his supper didn't get any sort of response either.

Jeff was tired. He was anxious. And he was officially done with observation. Something was wrong with Virgil; he pretty well suspected what and it was time for him to do something about it. When the sun came up it would be time to talk…

…within the four walls of Jeremiah's cabin.

* * *

He protested that he had to finish the painting. He said to stop over-reacting. He didn't need to talk to anyone about the message in that bottle. He would find his own way to deal with things, thank you very much.

"Excuse me please, Father. I need to set up my canvas. I don't want to disappoint my grandmother by not finishing something I start."

Virgil turned and snatched up the canvas and stalked his way out of the cabin. He wasn't happy being confronted.

He'd declined the offer of breakfast. He'd said he didn't feel like coffee. He'd avoided all eye contact since he'd opened the door. The whole thing was getting out of hand.

Jeff took the punt and strode after his son as he marched down the landing stage in an irritated silence.

"This is all the result of me going to Bonga Bonga isn't it, Virgil_?" _

Virgil stopped dead and reddened immediately.

"I don't know what you mean, Father."

"I think you know exactly what I mean."

Virgil paused for a while and then turned around to look him squarely in the face. Anger and embarrassment filled the air.

"Grandma showed you what I put in that bottle, didn't she?"

"No she didn't. Is what's in there some sort of problem for you?"

"Yes, it is. It's a big problem."

"Well, then, it's now become a problem for both of us."

Virgil's face contorted. He swallowed hard.

"This isn't something I can talk to you about, Dad."

"Of course it is. We can talk about anything."

"Not this time."

"How about you let _me_ be the judge of that?"

It wasn't easy to bring things out into the open. It was unsettling for both of them to confront the fact that they both had the same desires as a man. Virgil said at first he'd been all for the visit to Bonga Bonga. Like the other guys, he meant it when he said his father needed a vacation. He was glad Jeff enjoyed being with Lady Penelope. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman.

Virgil paused for a long time before continuing. He needed to be reassured ten times over that nothing had changed. That what was said at the cabin stayed at the cabin.

"Can you guarantee me that, Dad?"

Jeff nodded grimly. What choice did he have? He was the one who encouraged the boys to get things of their chest.

"Go on, then, " he said. "You have my word."

Virgil put down the canvas. Resignation replaced the embarrassment.

There was no easy way to say this, so he'd just say it and let it be done. He and Lady Penelope had something casual going and it had been on-going for the past seven months. The casual scene suited both of them. She was a member of the aristocracy. He lived on a tropical island in the middle of nowhere. They'd both agreed it was nice to find a bit of intimacy somewhere without the need to make it anything more.

But what he hadn't expected and couldn't deal with was the thought that Lady Penelope's casualness could also extend to include his own Father. He'd thought the invitation to Bonga Bonga had been extended to his father in friendship.

"But it wasn't just friendship. Was it Dad?"

Jeff felt the brown eyes watching him; two brown eyes that demanded an answer when he didn't know what to say.

But he had to say something. Virgil expected it. There were never any secrets when they came out here to the cabin.

He started awkwardly.

Yes; he had to admit there was an attraction. After twenty two years it was nice to keep company with a woman again.

What happened at Bonga Bonga was unintentional. He wanted to flag that right now. It had all started out so innocently; just the two of them together under a gum tree. A stray stroke to his cheek… a gentle kiss to her lips... he had never denied he was very fond of his secret agent; Lady Penelope.

What he didn't bank on was his reaction to things when they escalated close to the point of intimacy. He wanted to continue but a part of him still couldn't. It didn't seem right, even after twenty two years. He was just lucky a half-buried boomerang stabbed him in the butt and gave them both the comical excuse to end it.

"Lady Penelope and I will remain as colleagues, Virgil, "Jeff sighed. "Let me assure you there will never be anything more between us than that. She's almost thirty years younger than me. It took a boomerang to remind me of that. That …"

His eyes filled.

"…and the fact that no matter how hard I try to forget her, I can't stop loving your mother."

The stillness of the Mississippi magnified the silence. The rustle of the kitten playing in the nearby grass went unobserved.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Virgil's voice, when it came, was now barely more than a whisper. "But I didn't know what else to think when you came home so relaxed and happy and all you talked about was Penelope. There's no easy way to say to your Father that you don't approve of him moving in on what you have; now is there? So I did the only other thing I could. I wrote how I felt on a piece of paper, put it in a stupid bottle and threw it into the ocean over Tahiti. The last thing I expected was the bottle to wash back up on Tracy Island. I didn't even know it had until I opened the package from Grandma."

Virgil lowered his head.

"I burned the message, Dad and I'll apologise to Grandma as soon as I get home. What I wrote about you and Lady Penelope was inexcusable. I hope you can forgive me and understand I only wrote it because I honestly felt that I had to."

Jeff looked into the identical eyes of the only woman he had ever loved. Eyes that had shone with love for him; eyes life had taken away before he was ready to say goodbye.

"You've done nothing that needs forgiving Virgil." he murmured, "You know the truth now. Go on back to your canvas."

He'd never seen a woman as happy as his mother, when two days later, Virgil proudly unveiled the canvas in the lounge of the Tracy villa.

The Mississippi River…an old landing stage…

...and Jeremiah's cabin.

She made no mention of the kitten that played in the long grass. She made no mention of the boomerang in the tree. The empty bottle floating in the Mississippi seemingly went unnoticed, too.

She simply smiled and nodded her head at him; pleased.

But later on, she couldn't resist asking all about the empty can labelled "Ma's beans" which proudly stood in the foreground of the canvas.

"I'm not in a position to explain art or its interpretation to you Mother." Jeff Tracy said with a wink in Virgil's direction. "I think its best that you direct any questions in that regard squarely in the direction of your grandson."

* * *

THE END

* * *


End file.
